CEDA
by SquirrelISDead0304
Summary: The infected find in unconvential form of security in one of the most volitile world hating doctors in the entire base, but when a doctor equally insane and just as hatefull arrives in the base the two crazy colleagues form a bond of frindship... that is until the treatment of their patients becomes the subject of conversation.


**Author's Note: If anyone's already read this then know that there have been some changes made. Eric, Charles, and the stranded Survivors will re-appear, later. I wasn't sure how I wanted to start this story, if to introduce the doctors through a series of flashbacks or tell the story from their perspective. **

**This I thought was a better chapter. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Left 4 Dead.**

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CEDA

Prologue

Hehh. Hehh. Huh.

The first sounds of the Smoker's panic are the wheezes that follow the tell-tale click of the door opening as a Cleanone enters his concrete box.

_Goaway!Goaway!_

He coughs giving sound to his rising dread and anger as he scurries to corner farthest from the door, where he stands wheezing from the effort of trying to keep silent. He sidles into the corner almost as if he's trying to sink into the wall. He can't put enough space between him and the potential danger.

He coughs again nervous dreading what is to come. The memory of the burning sticks is still too fresh in his mind, and his sides ache on reflex.

_NONONO!GOAWAY! _

He screams as the Cleanone sidles into his enclosure keeping the door closed enough so none of the white light from the hall beyond burns his eyes.

It's the female who brings him food and he relaxes slightly, still coughing; telling her to leave. This one hasn't hurt him… so far. But she's never tried to help him either. Sometimes she stands there though watching him, like she's mocking him, and he hates it.

As normal she moves toward the bed with no look of fear and sets a bowl containing a piece of meat down. It's a measly lump, but they never feed him enough so anything is welcome.

She doesn't leave right away as he expected and no matter how hard he tells her to leave she doesn't listen. She's watching him with that same unreadable expression- the one that comes before the mocking smile. He snarls amid the coughing. He hates being stared at. He hates how vulnerable and exposed he is, that there's so little space between him and the monster across the room, and mostly he hates the monsters outside.

She still hasn't hurt him yet, though he suspects she's biding her time waiting for the opportunity. Her hand moves towards the pocket of her coat watching him with curiosity and a vague hint of uncertainty. He screams looking for a place he can go to get away her and the evil crinkly thing she now holds in her hands.

The crinkly thing is mercifully returned to her pocket, but she pulled something out of it. Something that looks like meat. He sniffs and coughs as the smoke that accompanies him fills his nose instead.

Through his spasmodic hacking he sees her take a bite and then take a step toward him.

Slowly, hands in front of her, fingers splayed open, she stops closer to him than he's ever let a Cleanone get. He wheezes turning cold with dread. He doesn't know what it's doing. He doesn't want to know, but he's in a corner and can't move away without getting closer.

_AWAY!GOAWAY! _

He screams, watching with a narrowed eye as she takes a hint and scrambles away. Shaking, he glares at her. Why won't she just go away? The stick is tossed onto the plate only to bounce and hit the floor. He ignores it, eyes zeroed in on her.

He wants to kill. If they'd been in one of those places with tall buildings and gotten this close he would have had himself a decent meal, but here he can't. She'll call others, and they'll bring those burning sticks with them.

After a moment she opens the door but when it closes he is blissfully alone. He remains standing, his single eye shifting from the door to the food and back again. Uttering a relieved sigh he steps from the corner. He's safe for the moment, blissfully alone, and unscathed.

That doesn't prevent him taking uncertain and small steps away from his corner or flashing worried glances at the door every time one of his feet touches the floor. The Cleanose out there, beyond the walls of his prison. He can't see them but he can sense them- all too close for comfort.

_All_ of them dangerous.

* * *

"You and me both; trapped in this Hell-hole."

Monica stares at the Common Infected trough a one-sided glass window. He's a relatively tall guy- though nowhere near the height of the Smoker, dark haired, and he's currently sitting in the middle of the floor with his head in his hands, looking extremely uncomfortable.

She feels bad for him, enough that she's considering a head massage, but it's a terrible idea. Commons are panicky and temperamental at best and violently paranoid at worst. Losing a hand or a part of her face to give him a massage is out of the question… at least for the time being.

"You think about joinin' him?" She scowls.

"What the Hell do you want Jameson?"

She's not in the mood for his antics, and never will be. "Well good morning to you too." He scowls walking into a small storage closet behind her. "You watch them a lot. Your fascination with them is more fascinating than they are. I've found them rather dull. They eat, sleep, moan, piss themselves, and try to kill anyone that comes within forty feet of them. Seen one, you've seen them all. I'm just starting to wonder if you're thinking about turning." A smirk curls his lip. "I imagine it's easier than being a doctor, though I think I'd get bored after a while. Except," The smirk curled into a grin that made her want to punch him. "You're not a doctor."

Offering him a smile, she turns away to observe the Common once more, seething at the insult. Even during the apocalypse some doctors still feel the need to boast their superiority. So she wasn't a microbiologist with a working knowledge of viruses, or a biologist, she was a behavioral psychologist, and that had been enough to save her ass on a multitude of occasions, and save a pair of guards from receiving any bites from a raging common a few weeks ago. It's why she was given the opportunity to "handle" -i.e. feed and risk being eaten by- the Smoker; because she had distracted a common.

It wasn't like it was a fucking miracle. All she'd done was sneak in to observe the commons when done cleaning lab equipment, and noticed a few things that she was later able to put to use, and as a result she was now wearing the white coat of a doctor, and standing in front of a large window with a plate of food in her hand watching a common.

"Jameson, I'm glad that common failed to bite off your personality along with your thumb. Because my mornings wouldn't be the same without you." She offers him a wide smile, one that is blatantly condescending and leaves the window heading for the steel door.

It opens soundlessly and she pushes it just enough to slip inside. The lights here are dim, but the lights in the hall are far brighter and that would easily upset the man slumped in the center of the room. His groaning is the only thing that breaks the silence as she quietly shuts the door. She's unarmed, so one rapid movement, one sudden noise she's screwed and she's not going to count on Jameson to do anything to help her. This guy's not like the Smoker, skittish and terrified of everything, oh no.

He lifts his head slightly as the smell of meat catches his attention, and she hastily sets the plate down. Yellow, feral eyes widen, and his groans are replaced by growls. He never once glances at the plate of chicken, his eyes zeroed in on her. And sticking around any longer is a bad idea.

She starts backing away, the doors only a few feet behind her. She can make it, if she doesn't panic or do anything to startle him. The only reason why her stunt with the two guards had worked was because she hadn't been alone. Drawing attention to herself wasn't going to do her a lot of good now. A loud crash makes her jump and her head whip toward the window.

_God, Jameson…!_

The shuffling of fabric and the crinkling of a hospital gown draw her attention. He's getting up, angry bright eyes glaring at _her._ A warbling yell echoes in the tiny space and his arms spread out in a gesture she's seen many times before.

_Fuck!_

She turns for the door, sprinting the last two feet toward it and slamming it against the squealing and screaming infected. Taking deep breath she tries to relax, only to fail at the sound of banging, each hit a loud thud against the steel, but the door doesn't fail.

"Jameson!" Her voice comes out shriller than she intended. "What the hell was that?"

"Sorry, 'bout that." He looked he couldn't have cared less.

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**Author's Note: If ths confusing to anyone, I'll be happy to anser question.**


End file.
